


Never Act The Way You Should

by NewAgeVintage



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewAgeVintage/pseuds/NewAgeVintage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every visit tended to follow the same formula: Try not to look suspicious creeping through back alleys, try to be polite, fail, slam a handful of cash onto the closest surface (sometimes the floor), take his blood, and punch the good doctor in the face before leaving.</p><p>But sometimes they would mix it up. Today was one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. But I Like It, And I Know You Like It Too

**Author's Note:**

> try to forgive my awful grammar and attempt at typing Worth's accent. I started writing the second half, but I figured uploading this would give me pressure to finish it.

Conrad was not as naive or inexperienced as people tended to assume, but no one got really got the chance to find that out. The wrong kind of childhood did that to you. It forced you to grow up to be suspicious and cynical. It turned your skin to leather and kept your list of friends to a minimum. Sticks and stones may break your bones but the words of an unrelenting mother left you spending 2 hours a week with an expensive shrink.

So the contacts list in his phone remained exclusive to clients and family members. The only shoes to grace his floor were his own. He never had the discomfort of discovering someone had moved the remote from it's usual spot. And that was okay.

Until a certain bat took up residence, sucked him dry, and left him for dead. But that might have been okay too. The interesting thing about death is as soon as it happens to you you can't care anymore. Unless of course, you come back.

Then you find your house full of way to many people or monsters or whatever for comfort and you're thrust into some back alley doctors office filled with lord knows how many diseases and one of the most vile people you have ever met.

So he did what he had to do and punched him.

_____

Punching Worth becomes a regular activity. It took the place of 'thank you'. Being dead brought Conrad to that alley more than he would have liked. Every visit tended to follow the same formula: Try not to look suspicious creeping through back alleys, try to be polite, fail, slam a handful of cash onto the closest surface (sometimes the floor), take his blood, and punch the good doctor in the face before leaving. It was surprisingly therapeutic but he would never let anyone think for a second he enjoyed the company.

Sometimes they would mix it up, usually when Worth was to preoccupied with whatever was currently racing through his veins. Today was one of those days. 

Conrad entered to find the man sprawled across the floor. The room was filled with noise. An ancient CD player was screaming in what sounded like German and Worth was cackling. Next to him was a small box containing rolls of bandages, various gleaming scalpels, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

But all of this took a backseat to the overpowering aroma of blood. The source, Worth. His left arm oozed from several areas. Conrad was dumbstruck, to overwhelmed with a mixture of disgust and hunger. He contemplated leaving.

"'Ey, Princess. 'Aven't seen you in days" He lifted his arms, "Care fer a free sample?"

"Are you fucking insane?"

"Why yes, I do believe I am" His words slurred together and he rolled onto his stomach, looking up to make eye contact. He brought an arm to his lips, suckling on one of the wounds. "Act'ly, ferget the sample, Don't quite peg ya as the hardcore drug type"

Conrad wasn't quite sure if he wanted to vomit or salivate. The CD came to an end and the room fell quiet.

He did neither, walked to the small refrigerator he knew was behind the desk and retrieved a packet of blood. 'Count Fagula' was sharpied across it with a lopsided heart. He tucked the bag into his backpack, slammed the refrigerator door, walked over to Worth and reached into his wallet to retrieve the payment.

He intended to drop the bills onto the other man on his way to the door, a sort of 'fuck you, and goodbye'. But plans change and an arm shot towards his leg and brought him to the ground. The closeness of fresh blood hit him around the same time as the floor. Conrad laid paralyzed with want for an impossibly long minute before sitting up and screaming.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?" 

Worth just smiled, turned towards the now sitting vampire and chuckled."Hate ta botha ya peaches, but do ya mind getting my pack of cigarettes, s'just a hair outa my reach" The pack in question was literally an inch away from Worths gesturing hand. He opened an closed his fist, silently pleading. A pitiful attempt at a puppy dog face over took his features.

Conrad could feel himself shaking, but he picked up the box. It contained 5 cigarettes and a half used pack of matches. Carefully he removed a cigarette, placed it to his own lips, and struck a match.

The look on Worths face would make you think someone had burned down his office. The obscenities started and Conrad stood, brushed himself off and relocated himself (and the pack of cigarettes) to the desk chair. His eyes didn't stray from that bloodied arm. He sat silently for another minute, before taking the blood bag from his backpack. The lit cigarette dangled from his fingers as he began feeding. After draining the bag he brought the almost finished cigarette back to his lips and inhaled. It was disgusting, but the response was worth it.

Worth seethed, struggling to bring himself into a sitting position. He was breaking into his more colorful insults as he attempted to stand. Teetering for a moment before carefully stepping towards Conrad. His attempt at movement was reminiscent of a newly born deer, sloppy but determined. But before he could reach the chair Conrad stood, extinguished the cigarette on the desk, exhaled the last bit of smoke into the doctors face and left.

____

The walk home felt like a victory march. His stomach was full and his pride more so.

____

Hanna paid him a visit the next night. He had a smile that said 'I have a secret' and a small cardboard box in his hands. Conrad let him in, offered him a cup of coffee. Hanna politely refused ("I'm just here for a quick delivery, I have to go do a consultation after this").

After a short conversation, mostly Hanna seeing if Conrad had any vampire related questions, Hanna left and Conrad stood starring at the box that was supposedly a gift from a secret admirer.

It was taped shut and made almost no noise when shook. Conrad sat it on his coffee table, took a seat, and began staring at it. He wasn't quite sure he wanted anything to do with a secret admirer who used Hanna as there delivery boy. After a stressful 5 minutes he decided to open it. On top of a bed of packing peanuts was a envelop with no markings other than a small black heart. Setting the letter aside he searched the packing peanuts and his heart dropped.

He found 2 bags of blood. Each sharpied with familiar insults. He wanted to open the letter even less. He brought the bags to his refrigerator, deciding against drinking from them without a proper analysis. "Mother fucker is probably trying to give me AIDs". The letter sat unopened.

____

It taunted him for the next several nights

He picked it up once, when he drank the first bag of blood. The blood had passed a careful inspection.Or rather as careful of an inspection you would consider Conrad checking for any foreign scents. 

When he finally opened the letter it had been 3 nights since he received it. Inside was a surprisingly pristine piece of white paper covered in unsurprisingly messy hand writing. When he read it he bit through his lip and tore the letter and envelope into several pieces.


	2. You Know I Can Hardly Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only polite to respond to a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again apology's for any crappy grammar.  
>  I was going to try to wrap it up with this part, but I guess there's going to be a part 3...

Luce Worth was a relatively simple man. People assumed he was a closed book, but no one really tried that hard to read anything past the brief summary on the back cover. His main goal in life was pleasure. Whether it came from sex, drugs, or harassing the people who put up with him. Despite what anyone wanted to believe he was happy this way. His current source of pleasure was a vampire. Most people refused to play his little games. But Conrad was different. Conrad didn't just play along, he played rough. Worth looked forward to the black eyes and bloody lips. 

Even if Conrad didn't know he was playing it was definitely a game. Worth followed the same rules almost every night. He always greeted Conrad like royalty ("What an unexpected surprise princess"), Always offered to cut a deal ("If ya take care of me, I can take care of you, if ya know whatta'mean"), and never hit first.

But sometimes things change. And tonight Worth didn't have time to enforce the first two rules or break the third.

The front door slammed open, the handle leaving an ugly scar in the wall. Conrad flew forward, fist raised. Worth could feel his nose break. He knew exactly what kind of bruise was going to grace his temple in the morning. And he could tell you exactly what painkiller cocktail he was going to indulge in to numb the ache. But he couldn't tell you why he didn't defend himself.

As suddenly as the assault began it stopped. Conrad stood before him, bloodied fists limp at his sides. Everything about him was calm, the eye of a hurricane. "I see ya got my letter" Blood dripped down his chin. His eyes flicked over Conrad, taking in his posture, the fact that he was uselessly drawing in air, and the shake in his hands. Worth leaned into the wall he had been forced against and produced a cigarette and lighter almost magically. He wordlessly lit it and grinned, smoke seeping between bloody teeth and out his nostrils. Conrad pulled an envelope from his jacket, placed it on the counter, and left.

Worth contemplated yelling insults after him but slid down the wall and sat on the floor finishing his cigarette. When there wasn't much left aside from a filter he lit another. The smoke filled his throat and head, it seeped into his clothes hair and skin. "Come one sweetheart, ya can't just get me in the mood and leave"

Vicodin and masturbation dulled the pain until sleep took over.

______

He woke up in bed. His joke of a pillow covered in fresh blood stains. His nose throbbing and mouth dry. Rolling over onto his side he dug into his pocket and found his crumpled pack of cigarettes. 

Eventually leaving his mattress he slunk to the bathroom. A good portion of his face was a sickly purple and old blood clung to his stubble. He splashed cold water over his face and used cracked finger nails to pick off the more stubborn bits of grime. He prodded at his nose contemplating if he really wanted to force it back into it's proper place. Teeth found the inside of his cheek as he forced the cartilage to line up. It was a sloppy job but better than nothing. Worth grinned at his reflection.

When he finally found himself back in his office he remembered the envelope on the table. It was the type you usually find important paper work in. It contained several typed pages and a smaller envelope, which contained the amount of money Worth would normally charge for two bags of blood.

The letter sat unread while he quickly spent all of the cash. Rebuilding his stock of cigarettes and filling his stomach were top priority. Conrad's rambling could wait until he had thoroughly unnerved as many people as possible with his freshly tenderized face.

______

When he finally read the letter Worth grinned. A shower, shave, and change of clothes later he found himself leaving his office for something other than his twisted version of grocery shopping, a rare occurrence.


	3. When You Say Those Words To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worth follows some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and for a third time, apologies for my less than desirable grammar.   
> But we did it kids, we made it to the top of the damned mountain, I haven't finished anything other more than a thousand words in years.

Conrad wanted to frame his masterpiece, a three and a half page paper (12 point font, double spaced) about how a certain doctor was completely tactless and would die alone. He'd been chuckling to himself about it since the previous night. He'd considered having Hanna deliver it, but the simple act of typing hadn't completely relieved his anger. He hadn't expected a reply, especially not the one he received.

The knock on the door came around 1am. Conrad was halfway through his most recent bit of freelance work, and he ignored it at first. The offending fist tapped the door once more, calling him from his desk to the peep hole. Worth stood in the hallway, freshly shaven and dressed in a clean shirt and pair of black slacks, a simple charcoal coat thrown over his arm. He knocked once more, finally guilting Conrad into opening the door.

"What are you doing here, Worth?" He didn't really want the answer he just wanted him to leave.

"Visitin' my favorite vampire, ya come here often?" He leaned against the door frame.

Conrad pinched the bridge of this nose, sighed, and gestured to his apartment, "Just come inside before someone notices you" Worth's eyes glanced across the room, taking in as much material for future harassment as he could. Nothing about the apartment came as a surprise, stylish furniture, an expensive looking desk full of expensive looking art supply's, and a spotless kitchen. Worth felt out of place, he was tempted to knock something over.

Conrad returned to the familiarity of his desk chair, cherishing the bit of comfort. "I'm going to ask you one more time, why are you here?" 

Worth made his way over to Conrad "Well, I figured I'd thank ya fer such great advice, I was thinkin' a walk round the park an a cuppa coffee" 

"Did I give you a concussion? Fuck I gave you a concussion... Wait, how do you know were I live?" He had his head in his hands now, wondering what he did to deserve this.

Worth gestured toward the door "All that an' more will be answered at the low low price of a dream date with a handsome docta'"

____

Conrad locked the door behind them, wondering what the adorable older woman down the hall would think if she saw him walking out of his apartment in the middle of the night with someone who looked like they lost a bar fight. Probably nothing good. 

The elevator ride to the ground floor was quiet. Two blocks away Conrad broke the silence. "Why are you here, no bullshit answers, no jokes, tell me why the hell you showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night" His hands nervously picked at the lint in his jacket pockets. 

"A little birdy gave me a bit'a relationship advice." And then Worth did something that made him want to run home, lock his door, curl up and die (again). He quoted a section of Conrad's letter. "If ya actually care 'bout someone ya don' have a third party deliver hastily written smut ta there door. Ya put thought inta somethin' they would appreciate, like an obligation free walk or a discussion over a cuppa coffee." 

Conrad sputtered "Did you know I have a tattoo?", the quick (and embarrassing) subject change was his best defense.

"Tramp stamp of ya mommies name?" Worth lit a cigarette.

"Oh definitely, it's in comic sans and everything"

The conversation bounced from subject to subject. As soon as either of them began to relax the other would quickly switch to something less personal. They were fish out of water, neither familiar with what made up a 'normal' conversation. Worth recounted a client who attempted to pay him in bridge tokens. Conrad complained about how inept the baggers at publix were.

____

Conrad didn't notice the gradual shift in distance until he felt his shoulder brush against Worth's arm. It felt all wrong. He was used to yelling that escalated into fist fights, not casual conversation and non-threatening contact.

For the third and final time that night he asked "Why are you doing this?" 

Suddenly Worth's mouth was an inch from his ear, "Ta prove that you'd ratha' do things my way then pretend ta be civil" 

So he did what he had to do, and he punched him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the chapter titles were taken from Talk Dirty To Me (with the cover by That Handsome Devil in mind)


End file.
